


Splinter

by dreamtowns



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Anxiety Disorder, Enjoy!, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Gen, I hc that Pidge has anxiety bcause I have anxiety, I tried to make it happy but I fail at making happiness sometimes, Pidge-Centric, Post-Season/Series 01 Finale, and Pidge also uses Matt's glasses to keep them safe AND as a defense mechanism, and Pidge giving the Green Lion cute nicknames gives me life, and it's a little bit rushed, deal w it, everyone else is really just mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 18:12:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7584760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamtowns/pseuds/dreamtowns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pidge had a good, warm family, and she lived a good life. Her childhood was filled with trekking through the woods in the backyard with her older brother and sequestering herself in her little lab in the tool shed that no one used, tinkering with any tech she could get her hands on. Her father had a warm smile, and her mother didn’t seem to stop laughing, and her brother was a pocket of sunshine on the best of days. </p><p>That was in the past now, and Pidge was a Paladin. She was the pilot of the Green Lion. But now she is lost and alone, injured and stranded in space, and there aren't any distractions to stop the flood of memories she didn’t want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Splinter

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Voltron: Legendary Defenders, and it belongs to its’ creators. No money is being made from this fictional work. No copyright infringement intended. First story in this fandom, and I literally entered the Voltron fandom as of July 23rd, a month late but whatever. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also, if you haven’t read my tags: Pidge’s pronouns are she/her. And I apologize for any errors. 
> 
> I tried to make it as happy as possible, but I may have failed.

The Green Lion was hauntingly silent when Pidge came to. The dark edges of unconsciousness were clinging to her mind still, and Pidge took immediate note of how she ached in too many places. Pidge was certain, however, that the Galra had messed with the portal, and while everyone was thrown into disarray, Pidge had gotten knocked out of her chair and crashed onto the floor. The bruises she indefinitely acquired were not going to look pretty. Through the comms unit, nothing could be heard. Hell, there wasn’t even static. Only an eerie silence that twisted knots into her stomach could be heard. Her heart echoed loudly in her ears as she gingerly picked herself up off the floor (was her ribs bruised? Broken? Cracked? _Shattered?_ ) and slowly made her way towards her chair.

Pidge laid her hands on the dashboard before her and murmured, “You alright there, sweetie?”

There was a warm, almost beating, pulse underneath her fingers. Pidge knew that it was the Green Lion telling her that it was okay. She sighed, taking off her helmet, and slumped against her chair. The sprawling ache of pain protested at her minimal movement. It would behoove her to get the first aid kit, patch herself up, and then figure out where the hell she was — except Pidge was hyperaware of her heartbeat, and there was that familiar ache gripping her heart, and her mind was moving too fast for her to catch up, and she had no idea if there was anything wrong with the Green Lion or if she was in Galra hands. The lump in her throat grew more pronounced at the thought of being at the mercy of enemy hands — of someone as ruthless as Zarkon.

Anxiety flickered at the edges of her feet, awaiting the chance to strike. Breathing deeply, and then wincing at the small pain breathing caused, Pidge put on her brother’s glasses. Those large, round frames always gave her a sense of comfort. It gave her a piece of Matt that she always carried around even though she didn’t need glasses to see. Neither did Matt, actually. Glasses were a sort-of defense mechanism for them. Blinking, Pidge peered out the visor to see where she was.

Stretching across the unfamiliar land before her was the various shades of green. Plant life blossomed before her eyes. Towering trees and colorful flowers filled her line of vision. From the shadows roaming around, Pidge guessed that they were woodland creatures and swallowed. She sincerely hoped that whatever planet she landed on, whatever galaxy she was in, there were peaceful beings and wouldn’t harm her or the Green Lion for crash-landing on their soil.

Pidge messed around with her control panel then, trying to see if there were any dangerous wounds on her lion. Finding none, except for a few scratches here and there, Pidge let out a relieved sigh. Now she could focus on healing herself without the worry of fixing her lion. All she had in the control room was the first aid kit and two crates — one held spare Altean clothing, and the other held a months’ worth of rations (Allura and Hunk were adamant that those two crates be placed in all of the lions as a safety measure).

Pidge concentrated on controlling her breathing as she pulled out the first aid. Her anxiety had begun to, slowly, inch inside of her lungs. It squeezed her insides, making it a cold temperature that was difficult to bare, and painstakingly crawled throughout her with the intent of overwhelming her entirely. As she took off her Voltron uniform, Pidge noticed the various patches on her skin that were turning an ugly purple.

She huffed but ignored the bruises and searched for any cuts. As she reached for the gauze, it was then that she felt the burning pain circling around the wrist of her left hand. Pidge peered at it and scowled.

“How did I miss _that_?” Pidge muttered as she stared at the large bruise around her wrist. She couldn’t remember the advice her father once told her in spotting broken wrists. Moving it slowly, Pidge hissed in pain. Okay. Not the best of her ideas but she really didn’t have a lot of options. Hands and wrists and arms were pivotal if one wished to be a pilot. It would take weeks for a broken wrist to heal properly, and Pidge didn’t have weeks.

Hell, she wasn’t sure if she even had _days_.

And wasn’t that terrifying? In fact, everything in her life at this moment was terrifying because one moment, Pidge Gunderson was Katie Holt, and Katie had her little family of three back on Earth, and then the world moved too fast, time spun out of control, and Katie became Pidge during a stage of grief and barely-controlled rage directed at Garrison Academy. Then a year flew by, and here she was now.

Stranded and injured with only a mechanical, sentient Lion to keep as her company. His

Sometimes, when Pidge was alone in her lab or in her bunker in the Castle of Lions, her mind would drift. Inevitably, she would think of her mother having to grieve not only her husband and son but her daughter as well in the time span of two years. Then she would think of father and Matt, and if they were still breathing, still living, still fighting to get back to earth despite being held captive by the Galra. Memories would float to the front of her mind, and Pidge would remember the way her mother laughed or the way Matt always lost his glasses somehow, or she would catch a sudden scent from the kitchen and a horrible pang of homesickness would curl up her throat with anxiety egging it on.

There were some moments in the Castle of Lions where Pidge barricaded herself inside of her bunker, curling up on her bed, clutching an old family photo. Those moments where the memory of who she used to be, and the life she used to have, would haunt her dreams and Pidge would have no choice but to continue grieving her family as though they were already dead because who _knew_ when she’d be able to see them again? And then there were days in her short life where the fear of dying in this space war would paralyze her, and she would drown, seemingly forever, in a sea of anxiety.

However, Pidge always had some sort of distraction to pull her away from those thoughts. Lance and Hunk were almost always roaming in her proximity — Lance with his corny jokes; Hunk with his familiar drone of machine building commentary — or Allura was there to ask about human culture or Shiro wanted her to explain how her latest tech worked or Keith wanted to practice some moves with a more agile partner or Coran wanted to give her more information on Altean culture. Or there was an attack from the Galra Empire.

In any case, Pidge barely had time to breathe let alone wallow in her own woe.

She sighed, tightening the gauze around her wrist. Thankfully, there was also a cast in the first aid kit though it took a while for her to get it on since she was only using one hand. Now that she was patched up somewhat, she needed to explore the land she was on, and search for civilization. Hopefully, they would understand her. Hopefully, they were peaceful.

“Now,” Pidge muttered. “Should I wear my suit or the clothes Allura packed for me? If I wear the suit, will they think me dangerous? If I wear the Altean clothes, what if they’re dangerous and I get injured?”

Pidge sighed and closed the first aid kit. She had to think of protecting herself first and foremost so she slipped back on the Voltron uniform. As she grabbed her bayard and slipped on her helmet, she patted one of the walls of the cockpit and murmured, “I’ll be back soon, yeah? Keep watch for me, green bean.”

There were a few pulses underneath her palm, and Pidge smiled. She may not be as good as Lance or Shiro or Hunk in connecting and communicating with their Lions but Pidge liked to think that they had an almost-friends-but-not-there-yet relationship. Sitting in her chair, her Green Lion moved her down to the small mobile ship (one that Pidge would _love_ to get the blueprints of, and then try to improve it). As she exited, and was a good distance away, the protective green dome soon covered the lion and Pidge breathed out a sigh of relief.

Pidge had a plan. She was wonderful with plans and lists. She was going to find civilization, and she was going to scope them out before introducing herself. If they proved to be somewhat peaceful than she would safely ask questions. If they were harmful, she would stay inside of her Green Lion until they healed.

“Alright, you shitty anxiety,” Pidge spoke. “I have a plan, and you _will not_ ruin it. Okay?”

Obviously, the anxiety didn’t respond but Pidge felt a flare of satisfaction. She moved upwards in the sky to get a better view and cloaked herself to remain anonymous. Sooner than she thought, she had come across a clearing where houses were built. Beings that looked similar to humans and Alteans roamed around though they had appendages that humans _didn’t_ — such as the cat-like ears that sprouted out of their heads, and the nimble, swishing tails, and those sharp claws, and markings on their skin.

Pidge blinked when she saw that these people were literal shades of green, blending into the surrounding forest almost effortlessly. The only thing that allowed Pidge to pick them out was the fact that they were moving, the color of their hair and appendages, and their clothing. Pidge was too far away to distinguish their type of clothing, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to get closer or not since quite a few of them brandished pointy, fierce-looking weapons.

“They’d probably shoot first and ask questions later if I land inside of this ship,” Pidge sighed. She maneuvered her ship to land a decent amount of feet away from the village. Climbing out, Pidge tucked away her bayard and took off her helmet. She wanted to look as harmless and innocent as possible. Breathing in and out deeply, calming her fraying nerves and screeching mind, Pidge took soft steps forward in the direction of the village.

 _Please let them be peaceful. Please let them be peaceful._ Pidge chanted inside of her mind. _Some_ deity out there should be listening.

Once Pidge exited the foliage, eyes swiveled in her direction. She shivered slightly but didn’t tense her shoulders. Their eyes were as blue as the Altean sky, and there were unfamiliar markings around it as well. Pidge thought that it distinguished ones’ status, or their health, or their job. It could mean a myriad of things, really.

Just like earlier, there was a haunting silence ringing around the clearing.

Pidge swallowed, tensing her legs in case she needed to run, before a woman — at least, Pidge _thought_ she was a woman given her impressive chest (this also made Pidge inwardly grumble since she was flat-chested as hell, like was there some sort of special beverage she needed to brew or what?), but what sort of gender _did_ aliens have? Did they have the stereotypical male/female or? — as tall as Allura stepped forward. There were two weapons strapped to the sides of her waist. She wore an outfit of indigo: a skirt or sash-thing around her waist, and a cropped shirt around her chest. Her stomach was bare. Markings in a highlighter red were sprawled over her skin.

“Who’re you?” she questioned. Her voice was rough and husky. It was like an interrogation in crappy soap operas; it was like a rugged rebel dashing to save their love; it was like — Pidge blinked, shaking herself out of her thoughts when the woman’s hand touched a weapon. “Who are you?”

“P-Pidge Gunderson,” replied Pidge in a stuttering tone. “I-I mean you and your people no harm. I crash-landed here a while ago.”

She narrowed her eyes in Pidge’s direction, raking her eyes over the trembling physique before her, before turning to a smaller villager. This one wore clothes of a warm lilac, had hair tied in intricate braids, and appendages of the same lilac color. “Lyla. Does this foreigner speak the truth?”

Lyla stared at Pidge, and it made her feel as though her soul was being searched. A few more seconds passed by before Lyla nodded primly. “She speaks the truth. She means us no harm, merely wanting to have peaceful relations as she tries to find her way back home.” Lyla had a voice that reminded Pidge of her mother — all grace and soft smiles over hot chocolate; the scent of fresh roses and blueberries; the smell of a baking apple pie.

Pidge blinked furiously, trying to hold back sudden tears at the thought of her mother.

“I am Cria,” the woman said imperiously. “The Leader of this village, and Protector of the forest. Upon clarifying your intentions, Pidge Gunderson is a Companion of the Xylith Village.”

There were cries of agreement echoing throughout the village. Cria beckoned Pidge forward and said, “Come, Pidge. Lyla will be your Guide.”

Within a split second, Lyla had appeared at Pidge’s side which caused her to startle. Lyla’s lips twitched. “I apologize, Pidge.”

“I-It’s no problem,” Pidge said. Lyla had begun guiding her through the village. Pidge noticed that many were chattering overexcitedly, their sentences ending in hisses or soft growls or clicks of the tongue. She was intrigued. “What’s going on?”

“We will be having a feast celebrating your Companion status,” Lyla told her. “It has been some millennia since someone was given the status of Companion.”

“Oh.” Pidge swallowed. “Who was the last Companion?”

In a succinct tone, Lyla said, “We do not speak of the last.”

Pidge fell silent as they passed by villagers who bowed and murmured, “Lyla. Companion.” In respectful voices.

“You are very respected,” Pidge pointed out. “What are you in this village?”

Lyla looked puzzled for a moment before replying: “I thought it obvious. I am Cria’s Mate.”

“M-mate?” Pidge choked. Allura had _not_ covered _mates_ in alien culture. Were the unions similar to that of humans? Did “mate” mean significant other? “A-as in…?”

Lyla blinked. “In another context, Cria and I are both Queens of the village.”

“So…you’re a…female?” Pidge said slowly, hoping that she wasn’t offending the person before her.

“Of course,” Lyla said with a frown. “There are only females on the planet of Tyls.” 

“I see,” Pidge murmured. Her heart panged. What galaxy was she in? How far was she away from earth? How far away was she from everyone else? Will she ever see them again? Was she stuck on this planet? In the middle of nowhere? How would Voltron be able to be formed? Would the Galra Empire take absolute control of all the galaxies?

Her anxiety flared to dangerous levels, but Pidge wrangled it down. She doubted the people of Tyls had witnessed an anxiety attack, and she didn’t want them to think that she was performing some weird ritual that would harm them.

A warm hand was placed on her shoulder. Pidge looked at Lyla, who peered at her with concerned eyes. “I do not know of your suffering, Pidge Gunderson,” Lyla began in a solemn tone. “But do not despair. You will find your way home.”

Pidge gave Lyla a trembling smile. “Thank you, Lyla.”

Lyla nodded and removed her hand before continuing the tour of Xylith. The feast hadn’t taken long to prepare, surprisingly, and Pidge found herself seated beside Lyla and Cria. The rest of the village seemed to be clustered into familial units but still close to one another. All around her was laughter and happiness glowed with the fires. Lyla murmured in Pidge’s ear of all the families in Xylith village, of the markings on their faces and the clothes on their backs, as Cria overlooked the feast with a proud beam on her lips.

The festivity reminded Pidge of holiday dinners. Everyone would pitch in even though her father was only a mastermind in deserts, and Matt could boil eggs with the best of them. Pidge was a decent enough cook, and made a mean casserole. More often than not, some sort of food fight would stir in the kitchen between Pidge and Matt, as Matt was a jokester and thrived on hearing Pidge’s laugh. Her mother would act annoyed but then her dad would cajole her into the fun by blowing flour into her face.

In the end, the feast would take hours to complete, and they’d be too exhausted to do anything except eat and pass out.

The way Cria and Lyla acted around one another reminded Pidge of her parents, of the way Matt spoke of a boy named Takashi Shirogane. The silent touches, the warm smiles, the unconditional love and support for one another, the inside history and little jokes. Her father would often leave little post-it notes inside of her mothers’ office whenever she had a hard case to crack and leave inspiring messages littered with poorly drawn characters.

Pidge had lost a father and a sibling, but Elizabeth Holt had lost a son and a best friend/husband. And then Pidge got dragged into space and into a ten-million-year space war, and her mother would have to mourn her only daughter as well.

* * *

With a sated appetite, Pidge stumbled inside of the Green Lion. Warmth pulsed underneath her fingers when she patted the control panel and muttered, “I’m back. Sorry I took so long but the Tyls people wished to have a feast.” There was another warm pulse and some sort of whirring sound. Pidge made a surprised noise in the back of her throat. “Are you _purring_? Well, you learn something new every day, huh?”

Pidge slumped against her chair, fiddling with her helmet. She’d fix the comms unit but she didn’t have any sort of scraps and pieces, and Altean technology was far too advanced for her still. Sighing, Pidge curled into a ball. The chair was bigger than she was so it was still a comfortable fit. As usual, whenever she was by herself, her mind began to drift.

Pidge had a good, warm family, and she lived a good life. Her childhood was filled with trekking through the woods in the backyard with her older brother and sequestering herself in her little lab in the tool shed that no one used, tinkering with any tech she could get her hands on. Her father had a warm smile, and her mother didn’t seem to stop laughing, and her brother was a pocket of sunshine on the best of days.

Pidge had memories of mirth and love, but there were darker days in her past that she’d rather forget — like the way her mother broke into pieces after the failing Kerberos mission, like how people whispered and stared at her whenever she left her home, like the way those schoolyard bullies told her that girls shouldn’t “toy” with technology, like the way she, herself, splintered and shattered when that Garrison officer knocked on her front door with that solemn expression of his and the words, “I’m so sorry,” rolled off of his tongue.

Pidge didn’t remember much of that day, but her mother had told her that she had collapsed in on herself with the overwhelming surge of grief and anxiety. Pidge thought the explanation to be legit for her days passed by her in those two emotions to the point where she didn’t know what was left or right. And then she entered the anger stage of Grief, and began making plans. Then she spent weeks upon weeks locked into that small shed of hers, building and rebuilding tech, and then she would continuously break into Garrison to uncover the real truth.

Pilot miscalculation _her ass_.

But one-day Pidge wasn’t careful enough with what she had discovered, her mind too overwhelmed with the grief and anger, and she was caught — by the Commander, no less. Katie Holt was banned from Garrison, and so she had shed Katie Holt’s skin for the time being and became Pidge Gunderson for the sole purpose of finding her missing family members.

Her world changed, however, when she had met Lance and Hunk. And it changed again upon meeting Shiro, Keith, and the last of the Alteans.

So little time had passed in her world before it shifted and trembled and turned. Sometimes, Pidge has to wonder if she could ever catch up to the never-ending change.

It was an old saying but her mother would always say, _“Time waits for no man.”_

Pidge had never understood the phrase until the Kerberos mission, and her little world had crashed and burned before her eyes.

Nightfall had fallen on the planet Tyls, and Pidge fell into an uneasy slumber and dreams of her families’ laughter.


End file.
